


Fixed stars

by Hypatia_66



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Awards, F/M, Gen, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 05:59:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16153040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hypatia_66/pseuds/Hypatia_66
Summary: LJ Short Affair challenge. Prompts: bride, stick, silver“We are all in the gutter but some of us are looking at the stars” – Oscar Wilde.  The UNCLE women definitely keep an eye on the stars.





	Fixed stars

Illya was quite unfazed about appearing in public without clothes. The difference between him and his partner in this respect was one of the many curious things about their friendship. Napoleon would have been more willing to shave his head than appear unclothed in front of others (apart from in a bedroom context) – a preference that baffled Illya – and he was known to be embarrassed when confronted by unexpected female nakedness. He would cover his eyes and was even unwilling to peep to check whether the woman had covered herself.

Illya, on the other hand, would have died rather than shave his head as an alternative to stripping off in public. He had few inhibitions nor was he much affected by scenes of accidental female nudity. He was used to the kind of public nudity found in his own country’s banyas. Did Napoleon fear it? he wondered. Did he suffer from those nightmares which feature being complete naked in the middle of a busy shopping centre? Illya certainly didn’t.

Moreover, he rejected Napoleon’s accusation that he was prudish about sex. He merely regarded sex as an agreeable, but undignified activity that should take place in private, and not be boasted about or announced to all and sundry. Which is why it was unknown for him to talk about anyone he took to bed with him.

It didn’t stop speculation by others, of course. If Napoleon was thought to possess a little black book, it was certain the UNCLE women had their own. Its colour was a matter of conjecture in the organisation. Some said it was black, some were convinced it must be pink. In it, bets were laid – or to rephrase that – bets were taken, on who might be invited into various beds, and little stars, gold or silver mainly, but also pale blue (for effort), were awarded according to degrees of excellence. Naturally, none of the recipients of these stars knew about such details (at least that was the assumption by those awarding them).

This merry-go-round of out-of-hours activity was regarded, to some extent, as a very useful educational service for all concerned as well as a safe outlet for stressed agents. Occasionally it led to a walk to the altar. The number of stars on an agent’s page played a part in persuading a girl to become a bride but usually in inverse proportion to the agent’s desirability as a husband. Their colour, of course, was a different matter.

Section Two agents were universally regarded as off-limits as husbands. Not only were their pages in the black-or-pink book a mass of stars – far too many, though very few of them were pale blue – but their chief concerns were always for their partner. A wife, like even a regular date, would always come a poor second.

The book was kept under lock and key, closely guarded.

<><><> 

“Where’s the Book?” said Melissa, one of Napoleon’s favourites, one morning.

“Just a minute, I’ll get the key,” said Louie. “Which colour star do you want me to stick in?”

“Have a guess.”

“Gold.”

“Nope.”

“Silver … No? _Blue_? What happened?”

“Started gold, went to sleep, and had a nightmare… calling Illya’s name.”

“Illya’s missing,” said Louie.

“Yes. I expect he’ll turn up – he usually does.”

“And usually in the infirmary.” Louie unlocked the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet in which was kept the current volume of heavenly bodies and associated star clusters and lifted it out. It was neither black nor pink, but wrapped in anonymous brown paper; it tended to fall open at the S section. Melissa fixed a solitary pale blue star to one of the many pages devoted to the chief agent and flicked back through the pages to the K’s.

“Have you seen this?” she said, handing the volume over.

There was nothing under Kuryakin. Louie looked up.

“How did he know where to look? How did he get in?”

“Honey – he’s a spy – he knows every detail of this building and its staff and I doubt if there’s ever been a lock invented that he can’t pick. A filing cabinet is child’s play.”

Louie looked at the filing cabinet. “Now he’s discovered the stars – this is serious.”

“Who was his last date?”

“He doesn’t date in-house. Hardly ever. It was a nearly empty page,” said Louie.

“He probably threatens retribution if they tell.”

 “So, where can I keep the book? We need to find somewhere he won’t think of.”

“Good luck with that.”

<><><> 

Lying in the infirmary, minding his own business and recovering from broken ribs and the flu he had caught from one of his captors, Illya received a visitor.

“Hello,” he said a little thickly.

“Good morning, Mr Kuryakin,” said Louie. “Welcome back.”

He eyed her cautiously – her tone was hardly welcoming. “Thank you,” he said.

“Aren’t you going to ask what you can do for me?”

“Why, is there something?”

“Yes, there is. Keep out of my drawers.”

He broke into laughter, starting coughing, and caught at his ribs. She blushed furiously. “I mean my filing cabinet drawers.”

Recovering a little, he said, “Perhaps when I get out of here, we could …”

“Illya! Shh. Someone will hear.”

“I was going to say, we could find somewhere safer to keep that book,“ he said mendaciously, “– but if you thought I meant something else, I’d be quite amenable.”

Amenable wasn’t a word she would, generally-speaking, use to describe this blue-eyed snake in the grass, but the veiled promise was irresistible.

“As long as it doesn’t appear in that book…” he added.

“I’m going to buy some black stars for your page,” she retorted, “as a deterrent to others.”

“Don’t even think about it,” he said dangerously.

<><><><> 


End file.
